Christmas Tree
by SpookshowBabyx
Summary: "She drives me crazy, but do you ever think it's maybe a little sad that she's sat there with no willing company this time of year?" A gesture of goodwill; Emma decides to visit the Mayor to sort out town business after hours, only to find she's interrupted the Mayor and Henry putting up their tree. Bearing a gift of homemade liquor, the bickering that ensues gets a little heated.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **_Kind of a prologue chapter, as I fancied playing with some banter. This is the second of my Christmas present prompts; this one for **littledragonflyson**. Prompt: Christmas Tree/ angst or fluff/ no previous sexual relationship. This is a pre-breaking of the curse little fic._

* * *

"Oh joy..."

The blonde huffs irritably as she glances at her phone to spy the name that flashes demandingly across the screen. Mary Margaret leans over from her position on the overstuffed sofa to determine the cause of her housemate's displeasure and sighs. Placing down the darning needle with which she had been patching together a small robin-shaped christmas decoration, she regards Emma pensively, as the Sheriff sits curled up in the armchair to her right, wrapped in a blanket and sipping egg nog.

In the school teacher's mind, it is too early to be drinking; the night still young.

In the school teacher's mind, three glasses is _more_ than enough.

Of course, she says none of these things, and simply offers a kind smile and a companionable roll of her eyes.

"You don't _have_ to answer it. It's past five. Whatever Regina wants can wait until you're being paid to deal with it... Unless... Maybe if it's to do with Henry-"

"-If there was anything wrong with Henry, I'd hardly be top of her list of people to call..."

Emma replies, a little moodily, and Mary Margaret nods in bemused agreement.

"No, I suppose not... Then I guess just ignore it."

"No... No. Last time I did that I received an hour long condescending lecture and a proverbial slap on the wrist. Irritating at the _best_ of times, but made worse because she was clearly having the most fun she'd had since she last got laid."

The Sheriff mutters darkly, and her housemate's cheeks blossom a bright pink as she laughs a little shrilly.

"_Emma!_"

"_What?_ Oh, come on... You can't deny Madame Mayor has the attitude of a woman in need of a good, hard, rough endorphin release."

"Says the woman who has spurned any and all advances since arriving in town and lives a life of celibacy and snack foods."

A cushion flies across the room and the raven-headed woman ducks with a stern scowl that does little to deter the younger woman's chuckling.

"That's different. I'm not a bitch about it!... And anyway; I can see to _my_ endorphin needs myself-"

"-_Emma!_ Stop!_ Please!_"

"-By_ running_... Jeez!"

She sarks, with a cheshire grin, and the school teacher goes back to her sewing with an exasperated sigh; her lips twitching tellingly at the corners.

"Fine, see what she wants then. Just, for the love of God, shut up!"

The blonde tips back her nog slowly and allows it to purposefully form a creamy white moustache; regarding her housemate through narrowed eyes, before licking her lips clean and reaching forward for her phone.

_Regina M: You signed the wrong part of the papers you left in my office, despite my taking the time to mark out exactly where your signature was needed. We have the last town meeting tomorrow, and if this is not rectified by then, all proposals within those documents do not get seen to until the new year. This is unacceptable. My home office. Tomorrow. 7.30 am._

Closing her eyes, the Sheriff lets out a low groan, letting her head fall back defeatedly against the high back of the chair.

"What do you want to bet I go down there tomorrow, and she's slipped in some papers I've never even_ seen_?"

"Hmm?"

"Regina... Apparantly I'm _incapable_ of signing my name next to the little markers she'd felt the need to make in red biro."

"Well... You _did_ only buy half the stuff on my shopping list the day before yesterday because you hadn't thought to turn the page over..."

"Hey! you're supposed to be on _my_ side remember?!"

"Oh, right... That _bitch!_"

The blonde laughs at this, before pushing herself up from her chair with much more grumbling and sighing than the action requires, and stretches cattily.

"You know what? Screw it... It's the holiday season, and if the Mayor wants my goddamned signature, then my signature she will get."

"... I'd imagine she'd want- and eventually get- it whether Christmas was nigh or not..."

"True... But if she wants me to meet her in her home office tomorrow, then she'll have the papers there now... Supposing- _just_ supposing- I_ did_ make a mistake... I guess it would be a nice gesture on my behalf if I went to go fix it now. That way she doesn't have to get up and ready for seven thirty."

"You mean, that way _you_ don't have to get up and ready for seven thirty."

"A happy coincidence!"

Mary Margaret sighs, and leans back against the cushions; watching the Sheriff go about wrapping herself up to brave the cold and entertaining- and then rejecting- the idea of asking if she really thinks she should be driving on a stomach-full of egg nog.

She has learnt not to feed her need to mother Emma as frequently as she'd initially tried to when it comes to such things; the blonde having proven time and again that- though it is not always the most _sensible_ array of ideas that spring into her mind- she has a good grasp on her mood and capabilities.

She has also learnt that the Sheriff never seems to suffer from a stomach_ 'full'_ of anything.

Proving her point, the younger woman plucks a handful of roasted nuts from a small, reindeer-themed bowl on the kitchen island and speaks to her housemate between tossing them into her mouth.

"You know... She drives me _crazy_, but do you ever think it's maybe a little sad that she's sat there with no willing company this time of year?"

"Well... Maybe not 'willing... But_ she_ has Henry..."

"... Yeah... There is that..."

"Did you ask if you could have him for Christmas Eve?"

"Seriously? I mean, I_ could_ give you a rendition of exactly how that conversation would go, but you dislike it when I swear in the house."

"I don't really see Regina as the swearing type..."

"No. Hence I'd have to overcompensate... You know the answer as well as I do, and I don't need the grief of actually being on the receiving end of it in full colour and audio... Besides, Henry's coming over for pancakes while Regina sorts out any final affairs on the twenty third."

"He is?"

"Yeah. They have this kind of 'tying up of loose ends' meeting as I understand it she has to go to."

"You're the Sheriff. You're not required to attend?"

"Ah, now that one really _will_ be a purposeful misreading of the fine print."

"How fine?"

"About 12 point text, but I wasn't wearing my contacts when I read it... So..."

The school teacher laughs merrily at this and shakes her head; offering the blonde a gesture that suggests she wants no part in any repercussions.

"Well. On your head be it then, Sheriff."

"On my head it is."

Emma replies; pulling her hat firmly down over her ears and offering Mary Margaret a wry smile and wave of her gloved hand which the school teacher repays in kind.

"Well... Good luck. I'll save you some leftovers, but hopefully you won't be too late."

"I doubt I will be. Hopefully I can just sign my name and go."

"When were things_ ever_ that simple with you and Regina?... Just... Don't let her get to you."

"I won't... In fact-"

The Sheriff holds her index finger up as though struck by a sudden idea, and trots over to the pantry; opening up the cupboard on tiptoe. Pulling out a cloudy glass bottle in which slightly sedimented ruby liquid sloshes merrily, she turns back to her housemate and shrugs.

"- I made more than I planned so we still have a few bottles to get rid of. I've accounted for Ruby and Granny, David, if you wanted to give him one, and of course us... But I don't think we need four bottles of the stuff."

"I _think_ you might be right... But... You're going to show up on Regina Mills' doorstep bearing a _gift_?!"

Emma shrugs once more, toying with the holly leaf she had tied around each of the decanted bottles with festive red ribbon.

"A sign of good will..."

"_Or_ a sure way to get her to comment on your drinking habits."

"Hmmm... Are we still talking about _Regina_, here?"

"Emma... There's no point giving that woman a gift... _Especially_ from yourself."

The blonde shrugs a little defeatedly, before offering an impish smirk and tucking the bottle beneath her arm.

"Well, then I guess I'm just curious to see the look on her face when I do."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **_Part 2/ The end. This ended up much longer than I thought it would be, but, hopefully that's a good thing! I'd write more here, but I'm all typed out. So; happy holidays, and I hope you enjoy. Please, please, please review :) _

* * *

As it turns out, the Sheriff is left wondering a while longer as to how the Mayor will receive her gift- not to mention her presence on the brunette's doorstep more or less uninvited- as it is Henry that comes bounding to the door; his mother busy with loading the dishwasher with their dinner plates.

"Hi, my mom's just- _Emma_!"

The boy cries with gleeful surprise, before his eyes narrow and he casts a glance behind him; turning back to regard the blonde a little regretfully.

"Does my mom know you're coming? She might not like it that you're here..."

"She knows, I'm just a little early-"

"-That's a_ bit_ of an understatement, Sheriff..."

Comes the low retort, before Regina appears in the doorway; subsequently pulling Henry behind her in a way that causes the blonde to glower.

The brunette regards her guest warily; giving the younger woman a brief once over- a habit she is unable to resist, which, in turn, just serves to fuel her hatred towards the Sheriff- to find that she is clad much the same as she had been upon the evening they'd first met. In her mind, she mills over a few derogatory comments pertaining to the woman's meagre and brash wardrobe, but in the end, she simply offers a withering glare; not wanting to ponder any longer on the way tight denim and garish leather lend a cheap yet rather appealing silhouette.

"I presume this isn't a _social_ visit... You've come regarding the papers."

"I just figured... Why keep you waiting?"

"Yes. I thought much the same upon _receiving_ the documents."

"Well... I thought I checked them through... It's not like I messed up on _purpose!_"

"No, I imagine it just comes naturally to you."

The Mayor sniffs, thus far having made no move to step aside and bid the younger woman entry. Emma sighs, crossing her arms over her chest as much with cold as with irritation, and Regina rolls her eyes as she notes a slight shiver pass through her unwanted guest.

"Oh, _honestly,_ come on, get inside. Take your boots off."

She warns sternly as she finally moves away from the door to allow the Sheriff to slip past. The blonde does as she's told; bending down to fiddle apart the buckles that fasten her heavy, black boots, before placing them neatly by the front door and turning back to Regina. She blows a strand of hair irritably out of her face; resenting the stark contrast the darker woman provides; the Mayor clad in a rich crimson V-neck and a slate grey pencil skirt, the end result alarmingly charming and thus most vexing indeed.

She tells herself for what feels like the thousandth time that the hostile bitch that stands with her arms crossed over the soft swell of her breasts is out of bounds when it comes to the rather inappropriate desires that seem to float permanently at the forefront of her thoughts.

Blushing as she recalls her comment as to their respective celibate lifestyles when jesting with Mary Margaret, she looks carefully down at the brunette's knees and gathers her thoughts.

"I didn't mean to interrupt anything..."

She mutters with a notable hint of genuine sincerity, and the brunette scowls at her irritably. She is less than ecstatic when it comes to suffering the Sheriff's company at the best of times, but tonight proves to be particularly bad timing on the younger woman's part to take it upon herself to make an effort. Pursing full lips and glancing towards the drawing room that doubles up as her office, she sighs and beckons the blonde through briskly.

"I had promised Henry we would finish decorating the tree tonight..."

"The tree? _Oh!_... Christmas tree."

Emma states her revelation and the Mayor turns to look at her with a furrowed brow.

"What _other_ kind of tree would you imagine we'd be decorating?!"

The Sheriff shrugs- following her unwilling host into the stately drawing room- and glances over at the boy that sits on one of the plush sofas looking nowhere near as ecstatic about the evening's activities as she would have thought he might, given their festive theme. Regina seems to be thinking much the same, as she places her hands on her hips and snaps at the blonde with clear frustration.

"Yes, well, as you have so_ cleverly_ deduced, we are decorating our christmas tree, so, I would appreciate it if our business could be swift. Henry has to go to bed soon, and _you_ seem to be on your way to enjoying an evening of indulgence."

"Huh?"

The blonde frowns in confusion, and the Mayor grinds her teeth at that most hated form of questioning for which she is constantly berating their son. Regarding Emma stoically, she nods her jaw in direction of the younger woman's left hand, in which the red-ribboned bottle swings precariously.

"Oh!... Uh... Well... _Actually_... This is for you."

Blushing slightly and hating herself for the fact, the Sheriff holds out the bottle with an uncertain half-smile that falls defeatedly when the brunette makes no move to accept her offering.

"... For me?"

A distrustful narrowing of brilliantly dark eyes, and the younger woman rolls her own and stalks over to the coffee table to put the bottle down.

"Yes. It's a Christmas present."

"Why?"

"Uh... I... It's customary?"

Her response is more of a question than an answer, and the brunette finds herself contemplating- not for the first time- that for a woman that has a good few inches on her, and faint lines that mar otherwise smooth, pale features, the Sheriff can be curiously childlike at times.

"I didn't get you anything."

The Mayor replies with blunt arrogance, in a tone that suggests the blonde has brought this rather awkward situation upon herself.

Emma supposes that in a way she has.

"I know... well, I mean, I figured... It's just, I had a few extra bottles, and... As I was coming over here anyway..."

"What _is_ it?"

"Vodka. But it's infused with cranberries and spices... I've been straining the batch for a month or so... It's _good_."

"Vodka... But of_ course!_... Funnily enough, most presents I receive are not in the form of _liquor_, Miss Swan-"

She chides; leaving out the fact that this is the first gift she _has_ received- other than those bought with her own money on Henry's behalf- for as long as she has ruled over their little town.

"-And a _marvellous_ gift to present me with in front of your son, I must say."

The blonde scowls angrily, but she bites back her infuriated retort as to the Mayor's _insistence_ of only ever acknowledging her part in Henry's life when doing so will serve to reflect badly on her.

_Sure, you're all fancy and you taught him to chew with his mouth closed; but, till _you_ shove a kid out of_ your_ vagina, I think I still get some points for effort..._

It is a vague, bitter thought; she no longer puts her heart into the irritation and hurt the brunette tries so hard to ignite with her flippant comments. She imagines that if she still did, she would spend the majority of her time a sobbing wreck, and she is anything but someone's sorry, guilty puppy willing to expose its belly to being kicked.

"Whatever. Merry Christmas. Why don't you just show me where you want me to sign."

She sighs, and she doesn't miss Henry's apologetic shrug from the corner.

Neither does Regina.

Stalking over to her desk, fuming, the Mayor begins to sort through a neat stack of papers atop its surface, while the blonde shoves her hands awkwardly into her pockets and wanders over towards the half decorated tree- and, subsequently, Henry- to take a better look.

"Neat."

She smiles, and the boy rolls his eyes as a ten year old is want to do when he has decided he is much too old for such nonsense.

_Just wait, kid. Being an adult is nowhere near as fun as you think it's going to be._

Grinning, she bends closer to inspect some of the more ornate decorations; deciding that- while she may find the elegant silvers and modern glass sillohette's of the Mayor's abode to be unnecessarily extravagant- the brunette has a finer taste when it comes to Christmas ornaments.

"This one's cool."

She points towards an impossibly delicate blown-glass bauble, inside which a single white feather floats as if suspended. Henry nods obediently, but without any real interest, and uses his foot to gesture towards a felt snowflake a little further down.

"We made those at school in Miss Blanchard's class. I gave it to her last Christmas."

He nods his head towards the brunette who thins her lips at this dismissive form of referral. Ordinarily, her favoured statement in such a situation would be 'who is 'her'? The cat's mother?'- a witticism she is unsure at what point she'd picked up- but she suffers the knowledge that Emma would most likely find this amusing for all the wrong reasons, and so she resolves simply to simmer in silence.

"Oh, I've seen these; I think we have a couple of the extras on the tree back home."

"You've done yours already?"

"Yeah... Well, Mary Margaret and Da- Mr Nolan did it the other day... I was out..."

She explains; trying to keep the bitterness from her tone. She bares no real grudge towards her housemate, and, in fact, can completely understand why the schoolteacher might have presumed she'd have little interest in such a cosy, homely activity... But then that's just _it_. It is _her_ home now, too... And she'd actually been looking forward to the task; never before having had a tree to decorate. Upon coming home to find herself unwittingly excluded, she had said nothing on the matter, simply complimenting the tree politely. Nevertheless, she had excused herself unusually early, and had gone to sleep feeling glum.

To Henry, she merely imparts the simple truth.

"Lucky..."

"Why?"

Emma asks, before the Mayor can interject her agitation, and the boy looks up curiously to find that the blonde seems genuinely confused.

He is surprised; he too having placed Emma as one to wish to avoid such arduous displays of joy and family bonding.

"Well... Because it looks like fun! And you've got some really cool stuff here."

She peers into the neatly labelled box that carries the remainder of the Mayor's decorations, but doesn't proceed to pilfer through them; imagining just _looking_ is already playing with fire so far as the brunette is concerned.

She's right on this count, but Regina can't help but ponder the younger woman's wording, and she looks up as she taps the papers in her hands swiftly on the desk in order to form them into a neat stack.

"You've not helped with a Christmas Tree before?"

She makes her inquiry as if uninterested- and she supposes she isn't, really- but the thought brings about the same feeling the Sheriff had felt back in her apartment when thinking on the fact that the Mayor must feel terribly lonely this time of year, despite having the pleasure of Henry being around.

Her disdainful expression reveals none of this.

"Never had one before."

Emma replies bluntly; keeping her tone purposefully light as she glances at Henry. When she looks back up at the Mayor, she imagines for a moment that she sees something curious cross over softly crafted features, but a second later it's gone, and the brunette simply purses her lips and holds out a pen.

"Let's try this again, shall we, Sheriff?"

The younger woman glowers at her once more, and the brunette finds she can't help but appreciate the hard iron that glitters behind dusky lashes, nor the way the frustrated placing of hands on hips serves to push out the blonde's chest; the delightfully flimsy cotton of her top peeking out between leather lapels, and the Mayor _knows_ it's one of the ones that allow candid observation of the shadows cast by Sheriff's bra.

"Look... I came to sort it out... You don't have to be like _that_."

Emma sighs; trudging away from Henry and leaning over the other side of the wide desk to flip through the papers once again.

Pupils within sienna pools dilate ever so slightly as the darker woman finds her attention wandering down the path promised by white cotton and red leather; tight garments falling forward just enough to allow a sly view of simple black cups.

"I'm not_ being_ like anything..."

Regina hisses, tearing her eyes away irritably.

Glancing up, the blonde shrugs; not willing to continue bickering as she has long since learnt she rarely wins.

She finds that her best comebacks tend to hit her a couple of hours later, when in bed or in the shower, and imagines there will hardly come a time when the brunette might be present during either of these circumstances to suffer the full wrath of her- albeit belated- wit.

Sensing surrender, the Mayor smirks, but she finds she doesn't quite feel as victorious as she'd like.

Eyes flickering from the younger woman, to the tree, to the bottle of vodka that stands upon her coffee table with its accusingly red ribbon, she sighs; sure that the only reason she even_ contemplates_ what she suggests next is due to the fact she has swallowed down the majority of a large glass of cider herself.

(Not something she makes a habit of indulging in when in her son's presence, but the blonde had been right in her psychoanalysis of the depression brought on by the time of year; and the fact that Henry has been as his most unresponsive, despondent and distant to her yet, has done _nothing_ to improve her mood.)

"Yes, well... Finish up. I suppose it would be courteous of me to ask you if you would like to share a glass of the bottle you brought with you..."

Emma looks up at her in confusion; both due to the complicated structure of the brunette's invite, and the sheer shock of what she deduces to be implied.

Clearing her throat, she offers a peculiarly shy smile, tucking her hair back behind her ears before looking back down at the documents before her and nodding.

"That would be nice... Thanks."

Regina catches Henry looking from herself to the Sheriff curiously and purses her lips. Her invitation of course means that Emma will remain present as they finish off their decorations, but, she notes with some begrudged appreciation the way the younger woman seems content to pretend to busy herself with the papers in her hands; not having been invited to make her way back towards the sofas and their company, and so making no move to do so.

With one final stern glance at the Sheriff, the brunette turns her back on the large desk on the far side of the room and approaches her son. After some persuasion, she coaxes him back on his feet and into the spirit of things; negating to dwell on the fact that he peers every now and then in the blonde's direction.

She can't help herself once or twice from doing the same.

Finally, as Henry deviates in his decision between two angels, she finds herself absentmindedly studying the emptiness below the tree itself. An emptiness that she knows will be filled on Christmas day only by the presents that she has brought for the express purpose of doing so. She looks back to the bottle on the table with defeated irritation, and then over to the Sheriff who watches the boy; oblivious to her audience.

The Sheriff whose hair is both a nightmare of curls and the promise of soft, silken gold to touch.

The Sheriff whose cheap clothes sometimes fit her just that little bit too tightly to showcase a body that could be worth a fortune.

The Sheriff that continually, resolutely, _purposefully_ has her wanting to bash her head into a brick wall and yet... Somehow... Has her smirking and grinning and, well, just enjoying herself more than she has done for years in her docile, obedient little town.

"If you're done struggling over the spelling of your name, you would do well to come a little closer to the fire. Your insistence to wear as little as you do would astound me in this weather, were it not for your idiocy in most other orders of business."

The fact that she herself wears only a thin cashmere sweater and that the heating is on full blast is something she negates to offer any consideration. Emma won't challenge her on such things- not before the boy- and so she welcomes the guise of disdain for what she truly means to say.

The expression the Sheriff meets her own with suggests the blonde is not fooled by her chiding in the slightest, and she has a sudden urge to march over to the desk and force that hint of a knowing, amiable- for god's sake, _amiable!_- smile from the younger woman's lips.

As it is, she simply sniffs and turns back to the tree; nostrils flaring as she senses the blonde pad up behind her and slip around to take a seat on the sofa.

Emma choses to sit on the same side as Henry sits, but she carefully keeps her distance; perching on the other end, and placing her hands neatly on her knees in a way that almost causes the brunette to laugh.

Running her tongue over her bottom lip thoughtfully; the Mayor nips the very tip before reaching for the box of ornaments and shoving it unceremoniously before the Sheriff.

"Here. Make yourself useful. It needs more red."

She senses Emma try to make eye contact and cordially ignores her; turning on her heel to spruce the branches.

She waits until she hears the telling clink and clatter of glass and metal before casting a brief glance back in the blonde's direction; watching the younger woman with her head bowed and lashes casting shadows across pale cheeks as she sorts through the decorations on her lap.

Long hair tumbles over slender shoulders, and Regina begrudges- not for the first time- the fact that the woman doesn't sport the same short, dark locks as her mother.

A great_ many_ things anger her when it comes to Emma Swan, but the fact that she should find the Saviour to be alarmingly attractive is one of the worst of them.

A cruel punishment.

When they had first met- before she had been given time to comprehend just how devastating the younger woman's presence might be- it had been a curious thing. She had proffered the strange woman a glass of cider- despite the ingrained irritation that her son's birth mother should be standing on her doorstep- for the simple reason that she had felt a small desire to have the curious blonde in her company a little while longer.

The way things had turned out had been most irksome indeed, but for a short while, there had been a light and playful spark of flirtation between the two of them, she is sure of it, and- while she begrudges the fact- she has pondered more than once on what might have happened if Emma had simply carried on drinking and smiling in that same damned innocent way she had been, instead of opening her godforsaken mouth and mentioning Henry's hateful fairytale book.

It had been_ enticing_ to have a newcomer in their midst, and, the fact that the younger woman had so quickly become unobtainable had- regrettably- done nothing to stem her more primal urges.

Nor had Emma's interest in Graham. A loathsome incident, but one that lended itself to a variety of rather heated scenarios in her head.

Indeed. There had been one instance when she had been lying beneath him, and had let her imagination flirt with the knowledge that, while they were each creating their combined noises of passion and lust, they were perhaps both swapping reality for the fantasy of the same woman.

A week later, and the handsome Sheriff was dead.

Looking now towards the blonde as she hands her son a series of carefully selected ornaments, she is overcome with that same feeling she'd had that first night she'd invited Emma to come and sit in the very spot she does now. The younger woman smiles at the boy in that same, unguarded, _pretty_ way the Mayor never gets to see, and the latter finds herself eyeing the bottle on the table with a little more interest as her thoughts begin to tick.

Jumping- startled- as a glassy crash brings her back to her senses, she feels her lip curl up into a predatory snarl as she surveys the glittering shards that are all that remain of one of the delicate glass balls that has fallen from the Sheriff's lap.

"Oops!"

Henry offers innocently, smiling at the blonde as the younger woman pulls a face before offering an apologetic look at her host. Her expression changes to one of wary uncertainty as she meets Regina's gaze; the darker woman's eyes holding within them a promise, but of _what_ she is not quite sure.

"I think it's time to go to bed, Henry. That was the last of those pretty, red baubles, so we may as well be satisfied with what we have."

She witnesses two things as these words leave her lips:

Emma cringes slightly, but maintains a hint of that cool, steely look that has her stomach clenching in that old, familiar, distracting fashion.

Henry offers the Sheriff his own look of pointed solace; his cheeks slightly pink and his step light... The way a young boy's _should_ be when decorating their Christmas Tree.

"It looks good, though! Don't you think, Emma?"

"Pretty sweet, kid."

She agrees, but the slight strain to her tone leaves the brunette feeling slightly more sure of herself; their positions unwittingly decided within those few small words. Offering a wide smile- not missing the way green eyes flash towards her painted lips- the Mayor stalks a little closer to the boy and places a hand on his shoulder.

Feeling elated at their shared activity; Henry negates to squirm and attempt to shrug her off as he usually might, and simply lets her.

She is, after all, his mother.

"Come on, sweetheart, let's get you to bed. If I am to share a drink with Miss Swan, I would like to do so soon, as I imagine she would like to catch an early night to be up bright and early for work tomorrow."

With this, she realises- and she imagines, from the slight smirk that touches pale, pink lips that Emma does too- that beneath it all there exists an odd, unwanted camaraderie within her relationship with the Sheriff, for she speaks to the younger woman on the couch in a snide yet joking way that she uses towards no one else.

Ushering Henry up to bed- begrudging but allowing his amiable goodnight embrace around the blonde's slender shoulders- she follows him upstairs without a second glance towards her guest; effectively ignoring her entirely.

* * *

The Sheriff is on her knees when the brunette stalks back into the room; attempting to pick up the small pieces of broken glass. She kneels facing the doorway, and when Regina steps into its ornate frame, she looks up with a small shake of her head to coax her hair out of her eyes.

Whether Emma is aware of just how submissive a picture she paints, the Mayor neither knows nor cares. She simply relishes the fact.

"Is this supposed to be served at room temperature?"

She inquires, and the blonde suppresses a frown as she imagines the darker woman's tone is just a little huskier than usual.

She tells herself that to feed such fancies is a dangerous game to be playing.

"Over ice would probably be better."

She replies, and her own words are definitely a little raspier than they should be.

"Wait here."

Regina orders, and the Sheriff raises an eyebrow as she wonders just where the fuck the Mayor imagines she'd disappear off to. Moments later, the brunette returns with two squat tumblers filled with ice. Taking a seat on the sofa, she says nothing about the fact that Emma remains on her hands and knees amidst the litter of shards that still remain, despite the fact that she drinks in the image hungrily.

Cracking open the sticky seal of the bottle and fiddling free the ribbon and holly, she decants several fingers of the ruby red liquid into either glass; the stench of ethanol filling the room thickly.

"So... What exactly is _in_ this?"

The brunette murmurs as she passes one of the glasses to the Sheriff; her fingers encircling the vessel completely and thus brushing gently against the blonde's.

"Cranberries... You put them in about a month before you want to serve it and just strain the whole batch occasionally... a few teaspoons of sugar... Rosemary... Cinnamon..."

She lists off the ingredients in a low voice; each item seeming to linger on her tongue like honey, and the Mayor struggles to decide whether she does this on purpose.

Not that it matters.

Taking a sip simultaneously, there is an amusing pause as each woman grimaces and offers a small, involuntary shake before regarding the glass in her hand warily.

"What percentage is this?!"

The brunette chokes as her eyes water slightly. The younger woman chuckles huskily while licking her lips clean of any lingering residue; her own voice strained in response to the surprising strength of the beverage.

"I'm not sure... Usually I just use shop-bought vodka... The extra distilling and messing with it makes it a _bit_ more potent I think... But usually it's not too bad..."

"What did you use this this time!?"

"Well... They were advertising this stuff in Northampton a few months before I left Massachussetts... It was like this weird vodka, tequila mix thing... The bottle was shaped like a skull, and... I bought in... When I shipped my stuff over, the movers packed the bottles I'd bought, so, I figured I'd work with what I had... Which is apparently pure poison!"

She laughs, and it is a raspy, debauched sound that has the darker woman nipping the tip of her tongue between perfect teeth as she drinks in the figure that remains knelt before her.

"Quite..."

Is the only response she offers.

Emma nods, before adopting a sly smile; ordinarily on edge around the often cruel and hostile Mayor, but currently feeling a little bold as the liquor hits her fast and hard.

Allowing the very tip of her tongue to peek from between her own sharp teeth, she swirls the cloudy crimson in her glass theatrically, before tipping the generous remainder back bravely.

Regina watches the white column of her throat ripple, and she surreptitiously places down her own glass; her expression suddenly unreadable and her eyes a polluted black.

Struggling with her cool, collected exterior as she chokes down her potent mouthful, Emma comes out the victor, lowering her jaw back down and smirking cattily as her lips remain stained a damning scarlet.

"Sorry about breaking your-"

But the brunette is uninterested in husky, liquored apologies; instead launching herself at the younger woman that begs forgiveness from lips dripping with sin.

She pushes the Sheriff down; several shards of the fractured glass piercing red leather and pale skin, but neither one of them gives this too much thought, save for a pained hiss from the blonde, and a lustful swallowing of any further complaint on the matter from the Mayor.

The brunette is unsurprised when her kiss is met and admitted; the younger woman letting out a low moan of excitement as denim clad thighs fall open to allow the Mayor to fall into her, before the darker woman finds the brass button on old, ruthlessly tight Levi's and wrenches rough denim forcefully down slim legs.

Emma lets out a shuddered breath as red-laqured nails scrape four straight lines up her inner thigh; and Regina muses that this is exactly what she'd envisaged all those months before; the blonde on her back, vulnerable, wide eyed, yet wanting.

Snarling against delicate lips as the younger woman pulls at the thick material of her skirt until she's wrestled it down and out of the way, she lowers damp nylon onto a sharp hip bone and rocks pleasurably; making small noises of desire that are swallowed swiftly as slender fingers pull at her hair and trail down her back to cup the soft globes of her ass and increase her speed.

Moving her own hand down between them, she slips her fingers beneath the tellingly wet lace of the younger woman's underwear to garner a hitched mewl around her tongue. Entering the blonde easily, the latter shudders, but from the way she wraps her thighs around slim hips- her bare flesh sliding against silken nylon- there is no question as to whether or not she has pondered upon the act also.

In fact, as the brunette lowers her lips to taste the delicate hint of salt at the pale skin of the Sheriff's pulse point, Emma traces her own hand up beneath crimson wool; gliding across the soft, feminine expanse of the darker woman's stomach to splay slim fingers over thin lace. Regina moans into the hollow of the younger woman's throat as those devilish digits dance and scissor to peak her nipple under the rough friction of the fabric.

"Take it off..."

These are the first words spoken since things have escalated to a writhing, salacious heap upon cool flagstone and crude shards, and the younger woman complies by slipping soft wool up and over chestnut locks, before slinging one arm around the brunette's neck to pull her down into a hungry, open-mouthed kiss, while fiddling apart small teeth lined in delicate lace with the nimble fingers of her free hand.

This reaction is rewarded by a particularly hard thrust and the addition of a third finger between slick folds, and the blonde cries out huskily; her teeth clashing against the Mayor's.

"Harder..."

The Sheriff dares, and the brunette groans as that low, sarcastic drawl whispers wetly beside her ear; obeying with the blonde's wishes as she herself grinds down with greater earnest.

Emma lets out harsh, broken sounds against kiss-swollen lips as the darker woman fucks her roughly; finding pert breasts once more before Regina changes tactics and she lets out a sharp cry as she is pulled briskly and ruthlessly onto her stomach. By a simple calculation of their respective body strength, she should be able to top the brunette easily, but the Mayor acts without warning; sharp nails clawing at pale thighs and scratching beneath flimsy white cotton as a domineering hand winds swiftly into pale locks.

Riding the smooth back of the Sheriff's thigh this way round; Regina is able to spy several small nicks to the exposed flesh where red leather has ridden up to expose the shallow divots at the small of the younger woman's back, and she feels her excitement peaking towards the edge swiftly as she drinks in beads of scarlet decorating virginal ivory.

"How long have you known?"

She hisses against the salted flesh at the blonde's nape; her teeth dragging against the skin.

"Known what?"

The younger woman breathes, as the brunette's fingers wander between her thighs and thrust into her to the same rhythm with which slender hips buck up against the round of her ass.

"About _this_... That I was going to do _this_... That I wanted _this_..."

This last part is little more than an unintelligible moan as the darker woman feels herself nearing her climax with delicious speed.

"Regina..."

Emma drawls, as her inner muscles flutter tellingly against the wicked fingers that work their rough and quickening magic on her.

"Uh?"

"I've known you've wanted to _fuck_ me ever since I first got to Storybrooke..."

Despite the debauched hitch to her breathing and the sporadic flexing of her thighs, she smirks victoriously as she hisses these last words; the last two remaining shards of glass stinging the exposed flesh of her stomach wonderfully as white cotton bunches up at her ribs with the Mayor's incessant bucking.

And that's all it takes for the brunette; the gravelly quality of the Sheriff's confession sending her over the edge. She shakes with the intensity of her pleasure and unleashes herself on the pale woman writhing beneath her; sinking sharp teeth into the soft flesh of the blonde's shoulder and criss-crossing her fingers until she is rewarded with a dampened cry as the younger woman buries her face into the crook of her elbow.

Regaining her breath enough to push herself up; Regina regards the spent form before her hazily. Smirking as she rests her hand possessively on the pert globe of the Sheriff's exposed backside- a thin strip of lace doing little to cover sporadically bloodied flesh- she leans forward to address the blonde in her patent rich, syrupy melody.

"Correct... Happy?"

"Mm... Well, it took you long enough."


End file.
